


When the sun stops shining

by Living_On_My_Own



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Euphoria (TV 2019), Loneliness, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_On_My_Own/pseuds/Living_On_My_Own
Summary: Sometimes, there’s no reason to get up, no reason to put effort in anything, no reason to breathe.(Inspired by Euphoria)
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been a bit unmotivated with this story for a while (like with each of my stories) so the beginning is quite old and I don’t have the heart to change it. I hope you’ll still like this!

When Freddie comes back to the flat with the boys after a recording session, he feels happy and giddy, like somehow life couldn’t be better. They’re finishing a new album and it’ll be ready to be showed to the world soon. Somehow, Freddie has a feeling that this album will go well, that people will love it. 

Freddie always dreamt of being a star, a  _ legend _ . Until now, he didn’t really think it could be possible. But today, it seems more than realisable. He will be a star. Brian often says he’s already one, and Freddie blushes when it happens. He wants the world to see he’s a star. 

He’s not gonna be a conventional star, but as Roger says when he’s feeling sweet enough to compliment him, he’s not unconventional, he’s special. Aren’t all stars very special?

He doesn’t always think of himself like that, but today, he’s happy enough to believe everything people will want to tell him. Sun is warm on his golden skin and life hasn’t ever been better than that. There’s nothing to worry about. He’ll see Oliver soon, will listen to him say he loves him. 

And Freddie will believe him. 

He doesn’t listen as Roger and John bicker about some stupid thing. His heart feels light, like it’s filled with all the love and happiness it can be filled with. He doesn’t ever want the feeling to stop. He’s so happy he could fly. He’s so happy he could die right now and not mind. 

Today is a great day, Freddie doesn’t feel as overwhelmed as he usually does. It’s a good day. And he doesn’t want it to ever end. 

  
  
  
  


“You’re so fucking boring.”

He hates himself, he does. Truly. Especially times like these. He hates himself for not being enough. He hates himself for being boring. He hates himself for starting to cry. 

He lowers his eyes, because he can’t bear to look at him, he doesn’t want Oliver to see he’s crying. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you, because no one else will,” Oliver says. 

Freddie looks up again. He doesn’t like the smile on Oliver’s face. It’s not loving like it usually is. It’s mean, like it’s just there to make Freddie hurt. He thought he wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of thing again. He was wrong. 

“Every guy who says he’s interested in you beyond fucking you, is full of shit.”

It’s probably true, but it hurts to hear it. 

He’s too sensitive. Papa told him hundreds of times. Everybody told him hundreds of times. He’s too sensitive, too needy, too much of everything. He’s everything no one would ever want. He’s everything that repulses others. 

He’s only ever been good at sex. 

With a slam of the door, Oliver is gone. Like everybody else will be soon. And with another slam of a door, Brian is there, so close to him. He shouldn’t get closer. He’ll want to leave too. He’ll want to eventually. Freddie won’t be able to bear it, so it’s better he doesn’t get close. 

So instead he’s the one leaving, slamming his own door shut behind him. He could stay there, locked up in bedroom forever. He wouldn’t bother anyone. He could stay there, do whatever he wants without upsetting anyone. He could just stay there, die alone, without bothering anyone, without anyone knowing, no one would care anyway. 

Today was supposed to be a good day. It was supposed to feel good. It didn’t feel that good before anyway. There’s always those clouds, only slightly covering the sun. He never gets to be fully happy. He’ll never get to be. Only people who deserve it are the ones who get it. 

He’s only a burden, to everyone, even to himself. 

  
  
  


It’s better than anything else ever felt. It’s a plain stillness almost so silent it’s deafening. It’s almost as if the silent sounds in his ears are better than anything. They’re better than anything. 

He can’t feel a single thing. Not one thing. He knew it was a good idea to take the pills that guy gave him, flush them down his system with vodka. Or whiskey. Or both. This is what he needs. He needs the numbness. Like that, there’s nothing to bother him. He doesn’t hate himself so much anymore. He doesn’t  _ care  _ about whoever he is, whatever is going on. He cares about the deafening silence, the numb feeling in his arms, his legs, his brain shut up for once. 

He needs this. He’ll never be able to live without it. 

There’s tears falling down his face. But he’s not sad, no, no he’s not. He’s  _ numb _ . He’s numb to the world, numb to the pain, numb to everything around him. 

He’s  _ so _ happy. 

“Freddie.  _ Freddie!” _

“W-what?”

His legs are weak under his weight. Brian puts his arm around him, not letting him fall. 

“W-wha-what do you want, Briiiii?”

The down side of the pills is that the numbness only lasts a few seconds. That when Freddie looks at Brian, still half aware of what’s going on. Freddie doesn’t like how Brian looks at him when he’s having a bit of fun. He looks disappointed. Just like Papa looked when he learned about Freddie’s “old businesses”. 

The down side of the pill is that there is a down. That suddenly, it all comes crashing down. That suddenly, everything hurts so bad again, that suddenly he can feel everything at once. That suddenly, looking up at Brian, after he tells Freddie to go home, because it’s so late, it hurts more than slightly. It hurts a lot. 

“Come oooon, isn’t this the b-best night everrr?”

“No, it’s not, Freddie, you’re acting like a fucking idiot right now. Is all this really worth losing everything?” Brian replies, sternly enough to make Freddie freeze, to make his heart hurt. Enough for Brian to pull his arm away, to turn away, angrily, to  _ leave  _ him. 

_ Oh.  _

Freddie’s knees aren’t strong enough. He crumbles down on the floor under the pressure on his shoulders. There are people dancing around him, of course there are, it’s a club, he’s in the middle of the dance floor. He doesn’t bring himself to care. So he stays sit, until there’s light coming from outside the building, until his legs go numb, the bad kind of numb. He stays until he doesn’t have the choice but to leave.

  
  
  
  


“Why are you never fucking listening to me, Brian?!” Freddie yells. He doesn’t want to yell, doesn’t want to be angry, but he can’t stop himself, because he hurts and he just wants it to stop. He figured it would stop hurting if he got angry. 

“You’re so fucking selfish!”

Brian steps back, his arms held up in the air in defence. “Fred, I was—“ He tries to talk, to just explain that he got distracted, that it’s human and Freddie shouldn’t become so mad just because he didn’t catch what he said. 

“No! You never fucking care!” His heart speeds up each time he yells, each time he clenches his fist because he wants to hit something, because he’s hurting so bad and he just wants it to end. He wants it to go away. Brian won’t even listen to him when he talks about useless things, then how will he ever listen to what he so badly needs to say? 

“Freddie, you’re drugged up and out of your mind right now. Come talk to me when you’re ready to stop fucking shouting.” Brian answers, he’s getting worked up too. Freddie doesn’t have the right to get mad at him for  _ that.  _

Brian walks away and Freddie’s whole body shakes, every inch trembles, everything hurts. “Brian!” He yells one last time, because maybe this will bring him back in the flat, because maybe it’ll make Brian stay. He has to shout in a pillow so the neighbours don’t think he’s become crazy. 

He’s become crazy. 

When it’s been days with hundreds of messages sent, none answered, Freddie loses hope. He hasn’t been able to get out of his bed much really, he watched stupid tv shows, watched concerts he used to love watching before. It feels like a task now. 

He almost got used to receiving no answers from  _ anyone _ . They couldn’t all be busy at the same time, for days. It still hurts, as he opens his phone countless times, hoping for someone reaching out for him, wanting to talk to him, to see him. It’s cruel, especially when he’s been waiting for so long for answers, it’s cruel that there’s never a notification anymore. 

Roger stopped checking on him during the day, asking him if he needs something, if he’s still feeling unwell. He never felt unwell, it was a trick to not make Roger worry. He’d have asked questions and then Freddie would have had to answer. He wouldn’t have known what to say, how to explain. 

Though, he can start to feel his stomach hurting horribly. Maybe it was a mistake, not getting up from his bed in days, not going to the  _ toilet _ in days. He doesn’t have the motivation, it takes so much effort, so much muscles used, only to get up and walk. It’s too much for his brain, too overwhelming. It really hurts. 

Brian hasn’t been answering his phone, at least when it’s Freddie calling or texting him. He heard Roger talk to him through the phone, Roger even briefly told him they were going out together. But Freddie’s texts were left unread, unwanted. Each time a new Instagram notification came up, Freddie hoped it was Brian, telling him it’s okay, that he doesn’t hate him, that he still loves him, even if Freddie’s been an asshole. But it never is. And neither Roger nor John answers when he asks about Brian. At least, when Freddie has the chance of seeing them. 

_ I’m sorry _

_ I didn’t mean to get mad _

_ Are you mad at me? _

_ I’m sorry _

_ Do you still love me? _

_ I’m really sorry _

No matter the message, Brian didn’t care enough to even look at them, never mind answer them. 

Everybody’s avoiding him, ignoring him like he’s a monster. He knows there’s something wrong with him, something that leads people away from him. And when the night is lonely enough, when Tom doesn’t cuddle close to him, he lets himself cry, stupidly, like it’s gonna change anything. He lets all the pain take over him, he lets himself fall apart, with a new episode of this stupid tv show in the background. 

He’s felt sad before, but he never knew sadness could feel like this. He never knew it could make his hunger go away, he never knew it could make him stay awake at night, making him wait more hours, eyes wide opened, staring at his phone. He never knew it could pin him to his bed, forever swimming in this puddle of unhappiness and loneliness. He never knew it could make him want to stop the earth from turning, to stop the time from passing, to stop his heart from beating. 

Everybody  _ hates _ him, what's the point?

Nobody’s awake in the flat, no one to worry about how he feels, if he’s okay.  _ No _ one would care, even awake, if he’s sad or not, if he wishes he was dead or not. 

With each passing second the pain in his stomach increases, it gets so intense that it transfers to his back, leaving him breathless. It hurts so incredibly bad. He knows he should get up, go to the bathroom, go pee, it’s barely anything. He can’t, he can’t move. He knows it kills people, holding the pee in for too long. All the bacteria’s travel to the kidney, and sometimes to the blood, then it gets dangerous, that’s when it becomes deadly. But it’s almost tempting, it feels almost good, knowing he’s almost to that stage, so near to the true silence, so near to peace. He can’t help but cry at the ache he‘s feeling. 

It hurts too bad to ignore it, Freddie decides. So bad he finds it difficult to uncurl his body, to sit up straight. He pushes himself up, trying to keep himself steady on both his feet. His legs are so weak and he has to put his hand in the wall not to fall. One step hurts, then the next one hurts, and the next one even more. He has to keep in the wimpers quiet in his throat. 

He manages to open the door, with probably more luck than anything. His legs feel so heavy because of the pain still increasing. He still manages to get to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet, though it’s girly, he’s just too weak now to stand up. When he’s finished, it hurts less, at least physically. 

He gets back up, avoiding the mirror. He must look horrible, he doesn’t want to see it. Walking out of the bathroom, he looks at the kitchen, there’s beer in the fridge, at least if Roger hasn’t drunk them all. It’s very tempting. He does give in, he has nothing better to do. 

There’s still two beers left in the fridge, so Freddie takes them both, sitting on the floor against the wall. Maybe if he causes enough trouble, if he’s drunk enough, someone will notice him. Maybe someone will want to talk to him. 

It doesn’t sit really well on his empty stomach, he’s already dizzy after the first beer. He doesn’t feel better, it doesn’t stop him from thinking. He tries to put the bottle on the counter, but it slips and he tries to catch it, but only ends up getting glass shards on his hand. It’s loud, Roger will come see what happened. He’ll be annoyed. Freddie will be a bother again. 

He pops up barely a minute after. 

“Fred?” 

“It’s fine, I’ll clean it up don’t worry,” Freddie whispers, holding his knees against his chest. 

“You’re bleeding,” Roger responds, walking closer to Freddie slowly, like he’s trying to not scare him off. 

He’s right, Freddie’s hand is bleeding. He didn’t notice it before, it doesn’t hurt if he doesn’t think about it. He’s staining his pajamas bottoms, probably the floor too. 

He sniffles, “yeah that’s true,” he answers, slightly stupidly. Roger walks away and Freddie’s heart tightens. He doesn’t care, nobody does. He hides his head between his knees, a few tears escape his eyes, he’s ashamed. He just wants to stop hurting. 

His heart jumps up when he hears Roger come back. He has a few things with him, Freddie realises what they are when Roger kneels down in front of him, when he takes his bloody hand and cleans it up. It stings, but Freddie doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t move when Roger wraps his hand up. 

“Thank you,” Freddie says, miserably. He almost gets up, but Roger keeps him seated, wrapping his arms around Freddie.

Freddie doesn’t breathe for a while, but Roger’s arms around him get overwhelming and as much as he tries to hold in the tears, they fall, and Roger doesn’t pull away. He holds him closer, even when he cries loudly, even when he wants Roger to pull away, to tell him how disgusting and immature he is. 

“It’s okay,” Roger whispers, “it’s okay.”

Freddie doesn’t want Roger to leave. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is quite sadder than I was planning, but I’m still very proud of it and hope you’ll enjoy it just as well :)

He feels numb. _Numb._ **Numb.** Numb. 

Or at least what he thinks feeling numb feels like. 

It’s a weird feeling, like there’s a glass screen all around him. He can see everything clearly, but can’t touch it, can’t get a hold of it. He feels everything at once yet nothing. 

It’s funny, because he can’t know for a fact that this is feeling numb, how could you know it? We’ve never been told exactly what a headache feels like, but somehow, we just know it. It’s not funny, because maybe this isn’t feeling numb, maybe he’s feeling something completely different. 

There used to be pain, so much pain. There still is, from time to time, when Freddie tortures himself by looking at pictures, by sending new messages to Brian, only for them to be ignored again. It’s a gnawing pain, one that doesn’t make him cry, it does sometimes, but it mostly makes him wish he was never there. 

He spent long moments in the shower, when the pain got so strong that, these times, he can’t help but cry. He let tears fall until his eyes were raw and dry, red and swollen, until his throat felt tight and painful. And then there was numbness. A peaceful yet not anywhere near peace sensation, a loud silence, a painless pain. 

It all seems exaggerated, even Freddie finds himself ridiculous. He’s  _ always _ been alone. It’s not a week or two without anyone that should kill him. It’s not rejection when he’s been unfair that should make his heart stop loving life, make his heart stop beating. He knows what Roger must think of him, watch him stop living, in the darkness of his room, finding him dramatic, like he’s always been. 

He knows what Brian must feel about him. Hate, because of how selfish he’s always been, because he’s just a drugged up or at least what used to be a drugged up bastard, that never cared about anyone. That never appreciated what he had in front of him when it was all he ever deserved. It was more than he would ever deserve. 

He was never grateful enough, never thanked his parents for trying to make him normal when all he ever wanted was to be himself. He still doesn’t know who he is, he probably never will. He’s always been the outcast, he thought, younger, it was because he was different. But he just never knew himself, never knew who he’d become. He wondered why nobody wanted him, but never realised it was because he didn’t want himself. He wondered why people didn’t believe in him, but he never truly believed in himself. 

There’s—

A knock, on the door. His door. Of his bedroom. Nobody has knocked there in so long. He wouldn’t have answered normally, but now his chest is incredibly tight, realising that he’s been alone in his room for days. That he’s come out to get something to eat, after suddenly feeling hunger, to lay the plate on his nightstand, and only eat a few bites of his sandwich, not hungry anymore. 

He hasn’t seen Roger since—the  _ incident.  _ He hasn't dared looking in his eyes, embarrassing himself any further in front of his best friend—no, roommate. That’s all he’s ever been to him. Someone that stuck around too long. Roger probably doesn’t want to see him either, realising that Freddie’s always been a fraud, that the cocky and confident Freddie was a lie. Or maybe he never was this way and this is only coming from his imagination, a world where he was happy, beautiful, loved. He was never loved. 

“Come in,” he says, hopefully loudly enough. His mouth is covered with his blanket, muffled. Oh god, Roger will be mad at the mess Freddie never cleans up, at the few dishes in his room that Roger was probably searching for for a while. 

The door creaks open, light shining through the small crevice. He hasn’t seen bright light in so long, hiding in the dark of his room, curtains closed when the day comes, curtains open in the middle of the night, when he stares at the stars reminiscent of the nights with Brian spent looking at the constellations while he explained them all, one by one. He only left his room during the night, because Roger wouldn’t be there to see him. He didn’t open the lights, even if his skin formed goosebumps at the thought of someone watching him from the shadows. 

There’s a head covered with curly hair poking out the door. Freddie doesn’t react, doesn’t look at him, whoever it is. It isn’t Brian, Brian made it clear he didn’t want to see him ever again. His silence was enough to make Freddie understand, enough to make him want to scream out of frustration, out of loneliness and rejection. But screaming made him lose enough already, so instead he silences himself, doesn’t talk anymore. There’s never anyone to listen anyway. 

“Freddie?”

It’s his voice. No, it isn’t. It’s just a hopeful dream, one that he’ll wake up from and cry because of how happy it felt. Happier than anything ever felt. Happier than he’ll ever deserve to feel. 

“Freddie.”

He stares at his lap, stares at his fidgety hands, playing with the loose threads of his pajama bottoms. If he doesn’t look, doesn’t give himself hope, he won’t be left even more broken than he already is, than he always was. 

The door is closed behind the person. It isn’t Brian. Brian hates him. He hates him so bad that he doesn’t even want to see him or look at any of his messages. He hates him so bad that he didn’t even bother wasting his time writing him a message about how much he hates him and how stupid and selfish he is. Maybe he should have. 

He hates himself just as much as Brian hates him, if not more. 

A hand lays on his leg, softly, like he’s something precious, that should be well taken care of. 

“I’m really sorry, Freddie,” the voice whispers. There’s nothing to apologize for, only Freddie should apologize, for being such a bad friend,  _ if _ they still consider him a friend. 

“I was mad, at the beginning, and then I just couldn’t bring myself to say anything. But Roger  _ told _ me about how you’ve been, and I know it’s shitty of me to come only because he told me to, but I didn’t realize that you could be even more sad than I was,” Brian, or what could be Brian explains. 

_ I’m not sad _ , is what Freddie wants to answer. He wasn’t sad, but there’s no way he could explain if, explain what goes through his mind without saying too much and make Brian run. He wasn’t sad, he was devastated, almost like grief, grieving the loss of what he thought could become his life. Grieving the loss of Brian’s presence near him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says instead, because he is. Because he doesn’t know how to explain how sorry he is for being so selfish sometimes, so stupid and careless. 

“No, Fred, I should have been the—“

“Don’t you hate me?” Freddie dares to ask. If, by some miracle, Brian is really there, then he won’t be for long. It’s better to just get on with it. It’ll hurt less later if he doesn’t stay too long, he’ll leave anyway, it’s best he leaves before Freddie starts to believe that he’ll stay. 

He  _ can’t  _ look at Brian one second. 

“N-No! Freddie, of course not. You’re—You’re my best f-friend.”

A reminder that what Freddie wants would never be reciprocated, that what he wished for for years is only a story he made up in his mind, something that would never become reality. Brian deserves much better than him. He was stupid to ever consider it. It would ruin everything even more. 

He sniffles, shamefully, turns his head even further away. Brian has broken the glass screen protecting him from feeling, he’s exposed to all the pain he’s been avoiding for days on end. It all hits him at once, all makes him cry. “I’m s—sorry, I—I, I don’t—” He doesn’t know what to say, what could possibly make Brian stay, what wouldn’t make him go away, annoyed at his childishness. 

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t worry,” Brian whispers, bringing him to his chest. Freddie’s truly crying, even more than with Roger. He can't believe himself, can’t shake the heart tightening anxiety that tells him Brian will leave again, this time forever, because he’s crying, again showing how much of a fraud he proves himself to be. 

And between hiccups, with so much courage, “I’m—I’m so un—unhappy,” he says, gripping tightly on Brian’s shirt. He can’t leave, not after he’s being so honest, more open than he’s ever been. He’ll be broken, it’ll kill him, if Brian leaves now. 

“Oh, Freddie,” Brian whispers again, holding Freddie closer. He’s sobbing full on now, he won’t ever be able to survive it, if Brian leaves after that. He’ll never be able to look at himself again, not that he does often anymore. 

“I thought—I thought you wouldn’t come b—back.” His voice gets higher the more he talks, the more he cries. He’s never held onto something more tightly than he holds onto Brian at this instant. Brian doesn’t complain, even if it’s probably annoying him. 

He hasn’t cried properly in so long, he’s held in so much tears that they all come out in rivers. He’s exhausted, with a headache and a sore throat, but he can’t stop, can't stop crying, can’t stop clinging onto Brian. 

“I’m sorry, god, I’m so sorry, Freddie,” Brian responds. He can’t believe he didn’t think about it, that he didn’t realise it could all have been deeper than just wanting to get drugged up for fun. He should have realised, after so many nights during Smile with a shy stranger with dark eyes and dark hair, bangs covering his eyes. He should have remembered those first concerts, slurs thrown at Freddie, ignored, mocked by the Persian himself, but then the smile gone backstage, the persona disappearing, revealing shy glances, hurt by the truth he thought behind those words. He should have realised, with the look on Freddie’s face each time a guy broke up with him, the questions asked  _ What did I do wrong again, Bri? _ The tears on his lashes coming with self deprecating thoughts. 

And him, Brian, the one that calls Freddie his best friend, stopped talking to him, thinking he was just going through a  _ Rock and Roll phase _ , but no Rock and Roll phase comes without a heartbreak, loneliness or at least pain. At least with Freddie. He ignored the never ending messages, the paragraphs of tearful words, written at 3 in the morning, when there was nobody that cared for Freddie, nobody did for so long and Brian hates himself for it. For not telling him how much he loves him, that he would never hate him, that he loves him, that he’ll always be there, that he  _ loves _ him. Nobody was there to assure him that they wanted him, that he would never be on his own. 

They proved him exactly the contrary, left him to deal with his problems on his own, when most of what he wanted was for them to be there and understand. Brian wants to go back in the past, to just fix it somehow, to make sure Freddie won’t ever feel this way. But he can’t, and Freddie feels this way, and it’s Brian’s fault. So he does his best to hold onto Freddie, he needs it almost just as much. He missed him so bad too, after whatever long they spent apart. He won’t hesitate to hold him forever if that’s what Freddie needs. 

He loves him. He  _ loves  _ him, like you don’t love a best friend. Like how you love a lover, a boyfriend, a girlfriend. He’s been hiding from that too, nervous Freddie would notice. He’s loved him since they met, but only realised it now. This is what real love is, what fiery and passionate love feels like. 

In a moment of vulnerability, Brian presses his lips against Freddie’s, he can’t stop himself. He can almost feel Freddie’s sadness radiate through him, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t show at any moment that this isn’t what he wants too. Freddie gets up on his knees, getting taller than Brian, gripping tightly of Brian’s curls, like he’s gonna slip away in a short moment. He won’t, ever, and Brian doesn’t mind repeating it countless times just as much as showing it. 

Their lips pull apart, uniquely their lips, and Brian whispers, in the wildness of the night, “I’m so in love with you.” Freddie then buries his face again in his neck and mutters it back after laying a lazy but soft kiss on Brian’s Adam’s apple. They switch positions and fall on the mattress of the messy bed, Brian doesn’t mind it, not even the computer screen open onto the worst tv show he’s been watched that Freddie always insisted was very good. 

“I don’t—I don’t want you to leave.”

Brian has to close his eyes a few second time to let the sadness to Freddie’s voice sink in before he can talk. Otherwise his throat would be painfully tight and nothing would come out. 

“Well good, I’m never leaving,” he answers and feels better when Freddie relaxes slightly, very slightly in his arms. 

Not everything’s fixed, in fact, so much isn't even talked about, but it’s enough for the night, enough so Freddie can go to sleep and actually fall asleep instead of trying to and giving up to this moment of closing his eyes and thinking about everything, while resting only slightly his body, it never helped with the dark circles under his eyes. This will, Brian’s sure of it. And he’ll make sure he takes better care of himself, that he eats, sleeps, that he’s cherished. 

Brian will be good at showing Freddie he’s loved. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I’d really appreciate comments and kudos to keep me motivated! (Constructive) criticism is definitely welcomed and helps to make me improve!


End file.
